


Sleight of Hand

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:16:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Following in Pollyanna's, trend setting, footsteps we take a ride on the wildside of X File couplings.  The moral of this story is - attempting to misdirect a Pest can come back and bite you in the arse.





	Sleight of Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Sleight of Hand by Sue

22 September 1998  
Following in Pollyanna's, trend setting, footsteps we take a ride on the wildside of X File couplings. The moral of this story is - attempting to misdirect a Pest can come back and bite you in the arse. <giggle>  
Grateful thanks go to Iain, Carol, and B2 for their beta reading talents so generously given to this tale.  
For Pollyanna, who is a wonderful sport.

* * *

Sleight of Hand by Sue <>

Frohike stared out the third floor window, scanning the dilapidated building opposite with a pair of binoculars. The once sturdy edifice, now cracked and worn, reflected the decay that had established its grip on this section of the city. He twisted his forearm and glanced briefly at his watch. The target was late, most definitely late. He ambled over to the table where an assortment of notebooks were neatly stacked, retrieved the most recent and flicked through the pages, examining the latest week's notations.

3:10 pm was most definitely late.

A darting flash of black below alerted Frohike to his target's impending return. He raised his binoculars back to his face, focussing on the room directly opposite and one floor down. It was a great choice. High enough from the street to avoid the prying eyes of passersby yet low enough for a hasty exit through the window without breaking a leg. Given the character of the people the target continued to consort with, these details were of enormous consequence.

The apartment door across the street opened and slammed shut tripping on Frohike's surveillance equipment. Electronic recorders of all descriptions whirred into life.

Frohike watched as the man prowled the confines of his room. With each day's observation it became clearer that the apartment, rather than offering respite from the world, was merely a temporary holding cell. His subject threw down his leather jacket and stripped off a white sweat stained T-shirt revealing a hairless, sleekly sculpted chest. Very nice, Frohike noted. The target was still managing to maintain his fitness despite what Frohike had seen of his 'on the run' diet of fast food grease and alcohol.

Casually the man sauntered out of view, through a doorway into an adjacent, windowless room. The sound of a steady stream of liquid splashing forcefully into another reverberated loudly through Frohike's speakers.

"God, Krycek, you can't half pee," Frohike mumbled to himself.

The sound continued.

He idly wondered if FBI agents were trained in bladder control. The FBI seemed to train them for just about every other eventuality they might meet on the job. It would certainly be a very useful asset for anyone stuck on an overnight stakeout. Or on the run. His thoughts drifted to Scully, as they always did when the FBI came up. Whoa there, boy. It wasn't polite to think about how long a lady could hold her pee.

Eventually Krycek strolled back into view and Frohike resumed observation through his binoculars. The ex-agent's trousers flapped open as he rhythmically stroked his stiffening cock with one hand. Frohike swallowed hard, licking his dry lips, as he anticipated what would come next. That was one hell of a piece of equipment Krycek was holding.

Krycek leant against the door through which he had entered the apartment moments earlier, giving Frohike a full frontal view. Krycek adjusted his stance, spreading and bracing his legs, as his right hand continued to coax his cock to harden. Once comfortable with his position Krycek closed his eyes and let his head loll back to rest against the door. With his hips thrust provocatively forward, his hand energetically jerked on his shaft. The fingers of his left hand set out on their own exploration of his bare torso, slithering down across his belly to the base of his cock, executing a quick squeeze on his balls, before returning to pinch at his nipples.

Groans and half gasped stolen breaths surrounded Frohike as his own cock stirred from its torpid slumber. How long would Krycek torment him like this today? He'd known the rogue agent to play like this for over an hour, teasing his body, hurtling towards a climax, before edging back from the brink.

Krycek's left hand had ended its roaming and was agitatedly plucking at the nearest nipple. That was a sure sign. Frohike reached blindly down for a Ding Dong, his eyes transfixed by the writhing opposite. His fingers grabbed air; the bowl was empty. Damn. His concentration lapsed as he looked around for another bag. Watching Krycek jack off always made him hungry ....

Quickly he brought the lenses back to his face. Krycek was screaming his orgasm; a tumult of incoherence and desperation. Once the semen had ceased flowing Frohike walked uncomfortably over to his notebook and scribbled. Quicker preliminaries than usual, shorter orgasm too. Frohike wondered when Krycek was going to find another outlet for his sexual frustration again.

Noisily Frohike's stomach growled interrupting his musings. It was obviously time to refill the snack supplies. One more glance across the road showed him Krycek spread-eagled naked on his bed, a hand gently stroking his empty balls and deflated cock. Frohike checked his watch. He'd lose the daylight shortly and he didn't want to be caught, on his own, out in this neighbourhood when dark came. Anyway if he missed anything important he'd have it all on tape to enjoy later.

****

Pendrell tightened his grip on the bag under his arm nervously. Never mind the wrong side of the tracks, this gym was in a hell hole to end all hell holes. Drug pushers, pimps and hardened criminals seemed to make up the entire clientele. The scent of testosterone laden sweat fouled the air, holding the promise of barely contained violence. The derelict structure he had entered appeared to be the centre of a war zone where a grenade might be lobbed at any moment.

The tension was almost unbearable.

Almost.

It had become clear to him that he had the uncanny ability to slide inexorably into full blown obsessions for the most unattainable people. At the FBI his first had been Scully. Her tiny stature and her skill of taking down the meanest, most physically threatening men made a mesmerising contrast. Her work consumed her every waking moment though, and she never realised he had been interested in more than a professional relationship.

His fixation on Scully had been suddenly subsumed by another. He'd been overwhelmed by an insurgent courtship. Relentlessly pursued, his suitor had ensnared his affections, ravished his emotions, teased him with kisses and furtive touches and then abandoned him.

So today he was trailing Alex Krycek: ex FBI Agent, murderer and traitor. At least that was how Mulder described him. He wasn't quite so certain. All he knew was that there was something dangerously erotic about an ex-FBI agent who'd sold his soul to the highest bidder and was condemned to spend the rest of his life fleeing retribution.

So here Pendrell was playing Russian Roulette with his life.

He watched as Krycek walked away from the punching bag toward the locker room; finished with his workout, his sleek body slick with sweat, in need of a shower. Cautiously Pendrell followed. Admittedly he hadn't had much field experience but he was confident he knew enough not to get himself killed. He'd even gone so far as to invest in a fake beard and moustache. Not a perfect match for his colouring but, he imagined, close enough to obscure his true identity.

By the time Pendrell had located a vantage point from which to watch Krycek had already removed his shoes, socks, gloves and wrappings. Pendrell half pretended to undress, hanging his jacket on a peg before he tugged loose his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, all the while keeping his eyes focussed on Krycek's body.

Krycek thrust his thumbs inside the waistband of his shorts and slid them provocatively down over his hips, past his muscular ass, cheeks framed by a restraining jock strap and across his lean thighs before letting them fall and gather at his ankles.

His mouth dry with anticipation, Pendrell swallowed hard, as he waited for the last item of clothing to be discarded. The jock strap was duly removed with the same slow ceremony as the shorts. Krycek stepped out of the cluster of fabric and raised his right foot up onto the bench. Pendrell was presented with an uninterrupted view of a dangling cock and balls as Krycek scratched himself, apparently irritated by the sweat gathered between the sensitive folds of skin.

Rifling through his bag Krycek retrieved a towel, flicked it across his shoulder, grabbed a small bar of soap and headed for the communal shower. Pendrell followed furtively. His safety depended on not drawing attention to his interest in the other man. This was not the kind of place where the clientele looked fondly on the homosexually inclined.

Krycek twisted the control lever and released a blast of hot water. Directing the onslaught onto his chest he began to soap his body. His hands seeking out every square inch of skin, applying a soapy lather that gave his body a glistening sheen.

Unexpectedly Krycek turned. Pendrell's eyes widened in shock as he realised Krycek's right hand was travelling back and forth along a now rigid shaft. Pendrell wondered at the sheer audacity of the man, masturbating in such a public place. He glanced back over his shoulder to ensure himself that they were still alone. Krycek leant back against the tiled wall, adjusting the shower's nozzle, directing the water so it struck his chest and splashed down the front of his abdomen. With his right hand steadily increasing its speed Krycek brought his left into play, pushing the bar of soap through his dark pubic hair, against his balls, between his legs and across his perineum. With his eyes closed he appeared lost in an erotic fantasy.

Krycek's orgasm erupted suddenly. Grunting noisily, he pumped out a spray of semen which was swiftly washed away in the torrent of water still pounding his body. Pendrell began to withdraw self-consciously half embarrassed, yet also elated at having watched Krycek perform. Pendrell returned to his discarded jacket and bag. He checked around the room then adjusted himself before donning his jacket.

The sound of running water ceased and Krycek emerged from the shower, a small towel wrapped around his waist, barely modest. Pendrell quickly exited the locker room and headed for the street. He wanted to find some cover before Krycek emerged so he could trail him undetected.

When Krycek exited the building Pendrell fell in behind him at a discreet distance on the opposite side of the road. Delightful to watch, Krycek prowled like a sleek untamed panther, black leather and denim his uniform of choice. His eyes darted back and forth searching for trouble among the faces of drunken tramps, passing drivers and pedestrians.

It did not take long to reach Krycek's building, run down and beleaguered like the area. Pendrell leant against a lamp post, admiring the lithe, predatory body of his fallen angel as Krycek bounded up the stairs into the building. Now if only he could gather the courage to approach the renegade and reintroduce himself.

****

A pair of strong hands clasped Pendrell from behind and yanked him roughly by the shoulders into an alleyway. Rubbish tangled around their ankles as they stumbled, "Don't blow my cover. You stand out like a sore thumb."

The two men faced one another, each a little surprised by their sudden altercation.

"Who the hell are you?" Pendrell inquired as he hunched his body, drawing his bag protectively to his chest.

Frohike gave Pendrell a cursory once over before he spoke tersely. "Frohike."

They fell into another awkward silence before Frohike continued, "So, you're following leather boy?"

"It's that obvious?"

Frohike's exasperated expression was a clear yes.

"So what are *you* doing here?" Pendrell queried as he relaxed this protective stance slightly.

"I'm doing a little research for The Lone Gunman magazine." Frohike scanned their location nervously.

Following Frohike's conspiratorial lead Pendrell lowered his voice and asked, "The Lone Gunman?"

"There's a secret government that really runs this country and we present our readers with the evidence they need to understand what's going on."

"Hmm?" Pendrell stepped closer, "So who did kill Kennedy?"

"You'll have to buy a subscription to discover that." Frohike countered as he shifted backwards, freeing himself from Pendrell's intrusion into his personal space. His eyes glanced upward and scanned the tops of the buildings before returning to Pendrell's face.

"You're pretty paranoid aren't you?"

"It pays to be paranoid in this day and age. Look at you and Krycek. You wouldn't have let him within 50 feet if you'd any sense. Where's your lack of paranoia gotten you? Lurking about in dank, dark corners, that's where."

The reference to his relationship with Krycek shocked Pendrell; he'd been so very careful not to alert others to it. After a moment's thought he struck back, "Well, you're in those crummy places too."

Frohike coughed and scuffed his feet. "Research, dear boy, research. That's what *I'm* doing here."

"Yeah, right," Pendrell replied ironically.

As the two shifted awkwardly on their feet in the street's uncollected rubbish, Frohike decided to take control of the situation before it deteriorated further. "Why don't you help me? I could use an extra pair of hands and eyes. And it'd keep you off the street and out of harm's way. The rate you're going you'll be spooking the target pretty damn soon with that pitiful excuse of a disguise and neither of us want that, now do we?" He reached out and plucked Pendrell's disguise from his face eliciting a pained grimace and squeak from the crestfallen agent.

Pendrell sagged, depressed at the apparent failure of his efforts. After a moment's hesitation he resignedly nodded his head in assent.

Frohike reached out to wrap an affectionate arm about Pendrell's shoulders in an attempt to bolster his flagging confidence, thought better of it, and instead patted the other man on the back.

"So how do you like Ding Dongs?" Frohike asked.

"I'm a granola bar man myself," replied Pendrell as they headed off down the street.

****

Frohike examined the electronic observation equipment one last time. Everything appeared to be set for Krycek's impending arrival. As usual he had to slap Pendrell's curious hands aside as the FBI agent tried to get a closer look at exactly what it was that Frohike had managed to acquire through the black market.

As they settled into their normal ritual of the past month Frohike asked, "I thought you fancied Scully?"

"I did ... no ... I do ... oh shit I don't know anymore. She's so ... so..."

"Unobtainable?"

Pendrell hung his head sullenly and shrugged, "They always are, aren't they?"

"Well ..."

Suddenly two bodies came sprawling through the door of Krycek's apartment. The electronics sprang to life. Frohike patted one of the metal cases with all the affection of a proud parent.

Pendrell's jaw sagged with surprise. Agent Mulder? What on earth could he want with Alex Krycek?

Mulder was the first to his feet, smashing the door shut with his shoulder before turning and grabbing Krycek by the lapels, yanking him unceremoniously to his feet, then slamming his back hard against the wall.

Snatching further handfuls of leather jacket, Mulder ripped the covering open, revealing bare skin. He forced the fabric down off Krycek's shoulders, tugging at it so that it imprisoned the wearer's hands behind his back before he launched a full scale assault on Krycek's nipples. He sucked hard then scrapped them with his teeth, eliciting an excited half protesting groan from Krycek. Encouraged, Mulder continued to alternate between biting and kissing on the stiffened brown buttons. Krycek struggled ineffectually to free himself and evade Mulder's ravishing mouth.

Pendrell felt a nudge at his elbow and let his gaze drop momentarily. A pair of binoculars were proffered. "You'll get a better view with these." Frohike had already retrieved his own pair and taken up position by the window.

The sounds emitted by the speakers were electrifying, generating a Pavlovian response in Pendrell's body, so he joined his fellow voyeur. He was here, after all, to cooperate with Frohike's research.

Abandoning Krycek's puckered nipples, Mulder leaned into him with one shoulder as his free hand sought out the fastenings of Krycek's jeans. Ripping them open belligerently, he delved in roughly and freed the straining cock he discovered there. Even from across the road Pendrell and Frohike could see the sheen of moisture painting the head.

With an admiring sigh Mulder dropped to his knees. Moving the denim fabric down, out of his way, Mulder let his fingers explore the tight muscles of Krycek's thighs. Strong and athletic, they trembled slightly as Mulder's fingertips travelled upwards between them. A moment's reverie was taken as Mulder adored Krycek's shaft, the only sound Krycek's laboured breathing, no longer struggling, merely waiting.

Swallowing hard Pendrell fought to stifle his own sexual response. It was becoming harder and harder to hide his reaction to the shows they watched across the street. Some small, quiet part of his brain told him that Frohike was probably being similarly affected but he still felt an obligation to not embarrass the man who had allowed him entrance into this secret world of theirs.

A tearing sound came from Frohike's position. Pendrell tensed, half afraid to look.

Tilting slightly Krycek pushed his hips forward causing his cock to bob and bump Mulder's lips. With a barely perceptible nod Mulder engulfed the cock to its hilt. Krycek gasped loudly and immediately began to thrust, leveraging his torso against the wall. Quickly Mulder ratcheted up the heat, sucking and licking Krycek, forcing him blindly into a screaming orgasm.

When Mulder had had his fill he slouched back on his heels, letting the now flaccid cock slip from his lips. Gazing up he smiled. Krycek shook his arms free from the lax jacket, reached down and lovingly drew his thumb across Mulder's blush red lips before forcing it between them.

A clicking sound came from behind the watchers.

"Shit, the film ran out." Frohike waddled across the room to rectify the situation. His trousers, binding his ankles, inhibited his movement.

Pendrell's mouth dropped open again, startled at the sight of Frohike's cock bobbing ahead of him like a nodding doll while he loaded more film into the camera.

"Okay, we're going again."

Frohike returned to his perch by the window.

"Why are you wearing a condom?" was all Pendrell could manage.

"Its an anti-DNA sampling tactic. I wear one every time time I jerk off. You should too you know." Frohike ripped open another packet and offered Pendrell a rubber.

Not quite knowing how to continue Pendrell voiced the next thought that came to mind. "God, Frohike, you're hung like a horse."

"Thanks for the compliment. How about yourself?"

Pendrell blushed.

"No need for modesty here Pendrell. You and I are both experiencing the same urges. This is the best show in town after all and guys like us don't get chances like this too often."

Trust Frohike to state the obvious. Somehow, 'research', just had a more intellectual ring to it. Cautiously Pendrell unzipped, shoving his trousers part way down his thighs.

"Keep going," Frohike encouraged.

Slowly Pendrell rolled his briefs out of the way, allowing his stiff cock to spring free.

"Now you've got nothing to be ashamed of there, lad."

Before Pendrell could stop him Frohike rolled the condom onto Pendrell's shaft causing it to twitch and jerk.

"Keen response, too. Oh, look ..."

Frohike gestured excitedly across the road where the action had shifted to the bedroom. Krycek was kneeling on his bed, torso parallel to the mattress, with his hands handcuffed to the headboard as Mulder's hand worked feverishly, greasing his ass. Their voices came in loud and clear.

"Don't worry Krycek, you scum sucker, I'm going to give you everything you deserve."

"Oh yes, Mulder," groaned Krycek, "give it to me. Give me everything you've got."

A stinging slap landed on Krycek's ass.

"Shut up."

"Deeper Mulder, deeper," Krycek encouraged, pushing back as much as the 'cuffs would allow.

Another slap was rewarded with a whispered, "Yes."

Mulder's probing touch became rougher as he rained slaps down on Krycek's reddening ass. Krycek groaned in appreciation, continuing the prayerful litany of yeses.

After what seemed like an eternity of growing need for Pendrell, Mulder asserted, "That should do it."

Relief was at hand, Pendrell hoped.

The bed creaked as Mulder adjusted his stance. In a single deft thrust he impaled Krycek with his shaft. A startled cry, half pleasure, half pain, came with Krycek's next breath.

Pendrell's hand skittered over his own shaft as it throbbed painfully. His fingers traced a path down to his aching testes. Even through the latex he could feel the ridges of protruding veins engorged with blood.

A hoarse, rough voice growled, "FUCK ME damn it."

"I want to," moaned Pendrell.

A strong, firm hand clasped Pendrell's cock. His eyes glanced sidewards.

"Let me?" Frohike mouthed, his emotional mask slipping slightly to reveal a deep reservoir of loneliness.

Pendrell's fingers stroked Frohike's strong hand softly trying to telegraph his comprehension and his own need.

They shuffled awkwardly, realigning their stances, partially acknowledging they could momentarily satisfy each other's longings. Pendrell reached over and grasped Frohike's erection.

"Fuck it, Mulder, *MOVE*."

The Peeping Toms' eyes met. Slowly their hands began to move.

A long aching moan suffused the room.

Their hands tightened.

"Faster," was snapped out.

Their hands quickened.

"Mulder! Please?" A begging, desperate groan.

Hands flew. Panting mingled with desperation and hard held restraint.

Restraint lost its grip.

"Yes ... please yes ... again ... harder ... faster ... fuck oh fuck...Yessssss!"

Frohike's head rocked back, his mouth wide open releasing a searing howl like a wolf baying for the new moon.

Semen spurted out with relief.

"Wow," Pendrell managed, a little surprised by the strength of his own orgasm and the apparent relish of his partner. With pleasure pulsing from his groin Pendrell sought Frohike's mouth to catch a kiss. Frohike's lips parted, permitting their tongues to tangle.

Breathless, each man shifted back to appraise the other.

"Next time ..." Pendrell started.

"Next time?" interrupted Frohike.

"Well, um, only if ..." Pendrell shrugged, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Frohike nodded energetically, a grin plastering his face.

"Next time," Pendrell asserted, "I'd like to try it like Krycek." His voice disappeared into a whisper as he stumbled over the last word.

Frohike nodded as he reached around the blushing man and squeezed a cheek affectionately. "You want to go for a meal?" he asked, "I'm famished."

"Sounds good to me," smiled Pendrell.

****

The next day Frohike followed the whistling Pendrell up their building's back stairs to their surveillance room. The previous day had been quite invigorating and they were both looking forward with some anticipation to today's exploits.

Pendrell inserted the key in the lock and glanced back, smiling at Frohike, as he pushed the door open. When Pendrell failed to step forward into the room Frohike barrelled into his back. "What the heck ...."

The room was empty. Not a stick of furniture, stack of notebooks or piece of electronic equipment remained.

Frohike delved through his pockets and extracted his cell phone. Dialing quickly he paced back and forth across the bare boards as he waited for someone to pickup.

"Room 212"

"When did he check out?"

He clicked the phone shut.

Pendrell walked across to their window where an envelope had been taped to the glass. Opening it, he pulled out the contents and read aloud the top sheet, "With grateful thanks, an admirer of your exquisite handiwork, K."

Letting the pages spill from his hands, Pendrell shuffled to the doorway and leant into the frame. "Well, there goes my career," he muttered, then stumbled out into the hallway.

Frohike collected the strewn sheets of paper from the floor. Turning one over in his hand he found himself staring at a grainy, black and white 8 by 10. He and Pendrell caught in flagrante delicto.

"Poor quality but great content," he observed wryly. Tucking the papers under his arm he ran to catch up with Pendrell.

While Krycek had the equipment, a few rolls of film and a stack of notebooks, he still had months' worth of surveillance tapes featuring an assortment of faces stored safely at another location. A bargaining chip that might prove useful in the forthcoming game of bluff, counter bluff and blackmail.

The renegade had made his move, now it was Frohike's turn.

The End


End file.
